She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. Wow. Too many. “Do you mean in looks?” she asked. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so.
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